Luyện nghe bài hát Non-Objective Portrait Of Karma

Ignorance is no wise woman's failed to mention
and surely some suggests 'neglect leads to perfection'
but the more I my face from the crowd
the I feel my backs' increasingly compelled
for the sake of escape, to turn a on itself,
a of relief, from all the petty insight
and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep the night.
as fuck on this street corner-cover.
study of a face in a figure. this language as a game
of this language as the plague.
the dimension of condemns.
This portrait of karma, crafted in
text book seduction, minus the text in the of ghosts
and so we ran, like the were biting,
the inhibitions of prey kept them from screaming
"scratch my back and I stab you in yours"
so I chose to this life alone, without the teeth marks
but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in else's heart to heal my own.
a victim's split, one part for the wolves, one part for you.
but I'll grow weary soon, weary of fractal code,
weary of hallway lined with ghosts.
a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to let them in
their words will the sweetest fracture from a stone's throw
just a upon the skin, a drop of blood to welcome them
parasitic, critics, or lovers, like spirits mingling in the mist
that we crafted, a starving jury, let eat shit from our trembling hands.
The heat for heat's sake, on Barnard block of Congress
deductively speaking, the polar of
maybe I put too much faith in the accident
entranced, we danced toward the display of escape
let the ghosts feats, from this flesh, from these bones,
let them all feast. light as a feather, stand back let the ghosts feast In this chess game of language, forced to sit so I play all alone, watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from a wild crafted rose.